


Jasmine

by Kaylee no Valerian (KayleeArafinwiel)



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:37:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayleeArafinwiel/pseuds/Kaylee%20no%20Valerian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, whatever happened to Phedre's younger sibling? Phedre's mother was pregnant, after all, when she left her daughter at the Night Court...this is a possible idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jasmine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kmo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmo/gifts), [AfricanDaisy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfricanDaisy/gifts).



_My mother was Lilliane de Souverain, an adept of Jasmine House, and her line was ancient in the service of Naamah._ My father, Pierre Cantrel, was a merchant prince’s son, and he lost his heart to my mother when first he met her. The Dowayne of Jasmine would not permit the marriage; nevertheless, they eloped, and this choice she was free to make. She was nineteen when she made her marque, and now she made her choice.

That choice led to disaster, and a child with an ill-luck name. Perhaps you know her story, for it is famed throughout Terre d’Ange, I hear tell. She was four when our parents gave her to Cereus House. I was there, after a fashion – at least, I was soon to be. And four months later, as the Dowayne of House Cereus knew, I was born, outside the City of Elua.

I, Jasmine de Cantrel.

Named for my mother’s House, I resembled her quite closely – skin the color of honey, black of hair and eye, I was nothing like my blond-haired, blue-eyed father in coloring, though I had his nose, and later, his height. Still, I was without flaw.

For that, they despised me even as I adored them.

It took me a long time to find out why.

Phèdre.

They never spoke of her freely, so I was ignorant of the reason we lived in exile, never staying in one place long. We might as well have been Tsingani. But like my misbegotten, god-marked sister, I had a gift for languages, and I picked them up readily wherever we went.

Were we in Terre d’Ange, were my parents’ sins forgiven, I would have been fostered at the Night Court, perhaps in Jasmine House, the House whose name I bore. But though I was not of the Night Court, Mother saw to it that I received the education due a fosterling of Jasmine House.

 _All_ the education due a fosterling of Jasmine House.

Father was a merchant’s son; he saw to it that I had plenty of books, that my formal studies were never neglected. Reading, writing, sums, history, geography, languages; it was a rigorous course of study that he set me. But when I turned ten, Mother began to teach me.

“Had things gone as planned,” she began, her voice soft and melodious – and a touch bitter – “you would be fostered in Jasmine House of the Night Court. Jasmine House, whose name you bear.” I listened, kneeling _abayante_ upon the cushions as was the custom when she lectured. Head bowed, hands folded, I listened and attended. _Had things gone as planned._ I did not know the import of those words then, though I did later.

Phèdre.

She would have been fourteen when Mother began teaching me the things a fosterling should know. Fourteen, and of age. But I did not know that. I did not know _her,_ then or ever, except through tales. But those came later.

Through my mother’s tales, I learned the mysteries of the Night Court and of the Service of Naamah. I learned of Elua’s Companions, and the service Naamah herself had pledged to him, to Yeshua ben Yosef’s misbegotten son. For some reason, whenever she spoke of Yeshua, Mother’s cheeks colored and she turned away.

I never dared to ask them why.

Of course, they would never have given me the answer I desired.

Phèdre.

And so the years passed. I learned nothing of Phèdre from them. It took a stranger to do that.

Melisande Shahrizai.

Melisande was mayhap fifteen years older than me –  twenty-nine, then, or thirty, when I first met her. Mother, Father and I were travelling through La Serenissima when we saw her, “Bella Donna,” she was called here, for her D’Angeline beauty outshone the Serenissimans, truly.

Her keen wit for politics fit well in the Little Court, and she had the ear of its Doge. She had the heart of the Doge’s son in her hand, but, ah – _Love as thou wilt,_ that is Blessed Elua’s precept laid on all D’Angelines, and the Lady Shahrizai was no different. Her alabaster skin was so flawless the adepts of Camellia House would weep with envy, Mother remarked softly, and her hair was darker than ebony – so black it shone blue. Those eyes, though – the colour of sapphires, shining like a twilight sky…once I looked into her eyes I fell hopelessly into them, and Lady Sharizai laughed to see it.

"Ah, little one," she said, caressing my cheek with her hand. "You must be of age by now?"

"Just of age, my lady Shahrazai," I blushed and cast my eyes down. She seemed to find that pleasing, as well as amusing, for she cupped my chin and kissed me. On the brow, not the lips, but still - ah! The touch of her lips was a blessing, a benediction.

"You must call me Melisande, for I am Kushiel's Scion. Unless I miss my guess, you are the de Cantrel child?" At my awestruck nod, she favored me with another dazzling smile. "A woman, now, and no one to teach you the womanly arts. Well, near-sister," for so all D'Angeline nobles will address each other away from home, though I wondered if there might be more to it, "be welcome. You must stay with me."

So began my stay in the house of Melisande Shahrazai. She taught me the arts Mother had only read to me from books. I had not had a Showing, being in disfavor with the Night Court, and Melisande was most put out at the lack. I was fourteen, old enough now for one, and so she contracted two youths – La Serenissimans, but not, thanks to the Lady’s patronage, unused to an audience – to show me what arts I might be expected to perform for a patron. The boy, mindful of his role, was only too happy to let the girl do the pleasuring, and so I watched, and learned.

My parents travelled on, eventually, but Lady Melisande bought my _marque._ “I will teach her,” she assured Father and Mother. “Have no fear.” They were, I suppose, all too glad to be rid of me. I had ever shamed them.

Here in La Serinissima, I blossomed under my lady’s teachings. I travelled with her wherever she went – from La Serenissima, to Skaldia, even back to Terre d’Ange. The first time I stepped foot on my native soil, I was overwhelmed by the abundance of fruit and flowers, the fragrance of life and love.

_Love as thou wilt._

I could not say exactly when it happened, but I remember, one day, hearing a commotion in my lady's house. It was night in Terre d'Ange, and I woke from a fitful sleep to hear the shouting echoing from Melisande's room.

A servant hurried in to tell me to go back to sleep; it was naught but a patron, and if I concerned myself with my mistress' business, she would likely thrash me for it.

She would, too; I was no stranger, by then, to my lady's customs. I both feared and desired them - and feared that even more. I turned over and slept again, and when I woke, it - whatever it was - was over.

 

Phèdre no Delaunay had been there and gone, with me none the wiser – just then.

 

I knew better than to disturb my lady Melisande when she had been with a patron. And yet...and yet, I found myself inexplicably drawn to my lady's rooms when I woke. Perhaps I was caught in a waking dream, or perhaps I had gone mad for a short time, to dare to disobey her so - I know not. All I know is that I entered her chambers, and my eyes were drawn to a bottle of wine on the table, and empty goblets. Melisande sat in her usual chair, a cloak as red as blood draped across her knees. She stroked it tenderly, but even though her focus was on the cloak and not on the door, I knew she had noticed me.

"Jasmine."

Swallowing hard, I crossed the room silently, and knelt _abayante_ before Melisande. It was not for me to question, not to disobey any further. Trembling, I awaited my sentence, knowing not what it would be. My lady was...creative in such matters, and I shuddered to think.

 

 

 


End file.
